R v Riddle
by devdevlin
Summary: Hermione Granger had always aspired to become a better lawyer than her mentor, but being appointed to defend the accused serial killer Lord Voldemort was not how she imagined getting there.
1. Chapter 1

**#notalawyer**

* * *

 **84 days until trial**

Cold, calculating, dangerous.

Those were the words that'd been used to describe the serial killer publicly known as Lord Voldemort.

Cruel, psychopathic, sadistic.

All of these fit the bill. The murders were planned; perfect, even, if one could ever describe a murder as such. Not a single sliver of evidence had been recovered at any of the six crime scenes; not a single hair nor skin cell had been recovered.

And yet, Hermione could not see it. The man charged with the murders radiated none of these things.

No, Tom Riddle was a textbook picture of innocence.

In the short few moments it took her to cross the small room to the dingy table, she was almost positive. This man - this nervous, twitchy man - could not have committed these crimes.

"Mr. Riddle?"

Dark eyes snapped to hers.

"My name is Hermione Granger." She extended a hand to shake. "Under the Legal Aid and Advice Act, I have been appointed as your legal aid."

After a delayed response - one she was not unused to seeing in her defendants - he took her hand.

"I am here to help you, Mr. Riddle," she stated calmly and clearly, using a tone reserved for the more fragile of her clients. "While alone with me, I can assure you that nothing that is said can or will be used toward your prosecution. The recorder is off."

She took the seat opposite him after he gave her a stiff nod.

"You are being charged for seven counts of murder," she stated slowly, clearly. "Do you understand the severity of the charges against you?"

He stared down at his hands and shifted, stretching the muscles in his neck as if he were uncomfortable.

"Mr. Riddle?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked, do you understand the severity of the charges against you?"

Once more, just as stiffly as the first time, he nodded.

"As your defence attorney, it is my job to ensure you with the best possible outcome," she said, and though she knew she couldn't judge whether he was guilty or not based on first impressions, she was grateful for his appearance of vulnerability. Speaking the words in this type of case was near impossible with a guilty defendant. "It is therefore in your best interest to be honest with me. Nothing said to me can be used toward your prosecution-"

"I didn't do it." His voice was scratchy; tired.

She let out a breath. "I am not here to judge. I am here to work in your defence. The only way I can offer you the best possible defence is with the whole truth."

"It wasn't me." His voice was soft, though it was ragged around the edges.

"You are sure?"

"Yes."

She nodded slowly. "Do you intend to plead not guilty?" She asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.

"Of course."

"Alright," she forced out, knowing this was set to become the biggest case of her career thus far. "Let us begin."

* * *

 **80 days until trial**

"What are you doing, Granger?" Moody asked, having followed her out of the courtroom after Riddle made his plea.

"My job."

Moody outright laughed. "Never pegged you as one daft enough to take up a case as hopeless as this."

"I did not _take up_ anything. He is my appointed defendant." She raised her chin defiantly. "Everyone has a right to a defence."

"He's guilty."

"You don't know that."

"I've prosecuted more murderers than you've seen hot dinners, girl," Moody grumbled. "The evidence is indisputable. You know as well as anyone that if you proceed, you will lose this case."

"I know no such thing." Stubbornly, she went to leave, but was followed by her mentor who limped along side her.

"I'll say this once," Moody gruffly whispered, "and only once. Drop the case, Granger. Let Dawlish take it. If you value your career, there's no other choice. Taking up a case as high profile as this... it will either break you, or lock you in as a defence attorney for the rest of your life."

"It's a good thing I like my job, then."

"Don't be a fool," he grumbled, wincing slightly as he followed her around a tight bend in the corridor. "I'll destroy you in there. I can't hold back, not with a case like this."

"You taught me well, _Professor_ ," Hermione quipped with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps of the two of us, this time, it will not be I who destruction comes for."

* * *

 **62 days until trial**

"Tell me about the Potters."

"I don't know them personally... we have mutual friends." He tugged at the chains around his wrists uncomfortably, and she noted the redness of his skin underneath the metal. "Or rather, _had._ "

In the short few weeks she'd known the man, the weight he'd lost in his holding was apparent. The dark rings underneath his eyes marred what would have been an exceedingly handsome face under normal circumstances, but she was glad for it. Visible signs of distress would work wonders with the jury.

"Can you name a few?"

"Severus. Severus Snape. Peter Pettigrew. Regulus Black."

"Would any of them have any reason to accuse you of their murders?"

" _No._ I mean - my friendship with Severus has been... somewhat _strained_ , lately, but... he wouldn't..."

"Someone has," she said. "Can you think of anyone else?"

"Well... we attended the same school. Were taught by the same professors. We would have had many mutual acquaintances," he explained. "It could have been any of them."

She nodded. "You'll need to be prepared. Moody is confident - that means a solid witness. While we can hope they'll call an acquaintance, we need to stay on our toes. Expect to see a close friend."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

She pulled her bag to her lap and rummaged for her next course of action, taking out an envelope containing a bound stack of photos. She slid them across the table. "These are the photographs of the crime scenes that the prosecution will be presenting to the jury. I'd like you to take a look at them, familiarize yourself. It would not be... prudent to be outwardly emotional in the courtroom."

He slowly flicked through the booklet of photographs, his features twitching slightly with each one.

That was good, she noted. Discomfort seeing the images, no visible recognition of the crime scenes.

All signs of innocence.

It wasn't until he reached the last quarter of the photos that she had to restrain the urge to take them back. His expression had grown far more pained, and upon reaching one particular photograph, he visibly recoiled, his hands shaking as he dropped the booklet to cover his mouth.

Hermione could hardly blame him. While all of the Lord Voldemort murders had been particularly brutal, the Potters' had been the worst by far.

The crime had occurred in their own home, in their own living room, surrounded by their belongings, photographs of happier times. In the center of the room, marring the scene, two bodies had been left; Lily and James Potter. They had been stripped naked, bent over with their hands in front of them, as if bowing down towards an unseen figure, surrounded by a halo of their own blood.

But it wasn't this that made the image so horrific, nor was it the sheer amount of blood that had been trailed throughout their home.

No, what made it so horrific was that both Lily and James Potter had been decapitated.

While the scene matched the other murders attributed to Lord Voldemort, their decapitations made it unique. These murders were not like the others. No, these murders were special.

 _Personal._

"Take your time, Mr. Riddle," she said, having found it impossible not to sympathize for the man.

He glanced back down toward the image momentarily, before he squeezed his eyes closed, covering his mouth tightly as he dry retched.

"I'm sorry." He gestured toward the jug of water beside her. "Could I please...?"

She poured him a glass and slid it across the table, close enough for him to take with his chains on.

"Thank you."

She let him have a moment as he sipped the water, though she noticed he wasn't taking much down.

"Is there no one who can attest to your whereabouts on the night of the 31st of October?"

Shakily putting his glass back down, Riddle shook his head. "I already went through this with the detectives."

"Yes, forgive me. But as your lawyer, it would not be uncommon for the information you give me to differ from what you gave to the detectives."

"I was alone. In my apartment."

She nodded. "A man matching your description was seen at the crime scene. Do you have any idea-"

"No, I-" He began, almost angrily, before he restrained himself. "I don't know why that would be the case, but I'm sure you'll find that I am not the only Caucasian man with dark hair in the country who does not have an alibi for that night."

She sifted through her papers, pulling out the drawn image, the one heavily resembling the man before her.

The very same one that had seen him apprehended.

"This was drawn by an artist with the help of Lily and James' son."

" _I know, I-_ " he stopped himself once more, breathing deeply. "I can't explain that."

Her shoulders relaxed as her features softened subconsciously. "Mr. Riddle... while we can all agree that a large amount of the evidence to be put forth in your case is circumstantial... there is a lot of it."

He shifted, his eyebrows furrowing as if he were almost in pain. "I know."

"I need as much information as you can give me. We have sixty days to prepare. It will go by faster than you know it. If there is anything, anything at all that may be useful that you're not telling me, then I must-"

"I've told you... I've told you _everything_."

"Tom-"

"I didn't do it." His eyes, wide and scared like those of a wounded animal, willed her to believe him. She did. "Please, I-I promise you. I didn't do this. I didn't kill anyone."

She prayed that he would will the jury in the same way.

* * *

 **55 days until trial**

"Hey, Seamus," Hermione greeted as she passed the security desk of the holding cells at ten o'clock on the dot, eager for their next day of preparation.

"He's not in there."

She stopped in her tacks. "Excuse me?"

"Riddle," the guard clarified. "He's out on bail."

It took all of her self-restraint not to gape. "He's a _murder_ suspect. With _multiple counts!_ He's not _eligible-_ "

"He's been released with the assistance of one _Lucius Malfoy_ ," Seamus said with a knowing, sideways smirk. The guard shuffled through the stack of papers on the desk. "Here. His contact details."

Hurriedly, she snatched the paper from the guard and with a nod of thanks, she stormed off.

* * *

"Tom!"

When she received no response, she bashed harder on the polished wood.

" _Tom!_ "

Just as she was about to knock again, the door swung open. She didn't give him the chance to even open his mouth before she shoved him aside and invaded the cramped apartment.

"What - the - _absolute_ \- fuck?!" Usually, she maintained a tight level of control over her language, but in this particular instance, she'd been left to stew in her own anger for much too long.

"I can explain."

"Then you'd _fucking_ better start!"

He glanced behind her. Following his look, she saw the other presence in the kitchen that she hadn't noticed upon her entry.

The very cause of her problems, Lucius _fucking_ Malfoy stood leaning against the counter.

"Oh." She shifted, suddenly feeling very conscious of her mane of hair that'd come loose on her run over to the apartment. "I didn't realize you had company."

"It's fine," Tom said, moving back to take up a place upon a stool at the kitchen counter. Lucius didn't move.

"W-" she stammered under the hard watch of Malfoy, "we need to talk."

She'd never met the man herself, but she'd heard enough about him to feel rather intimidated in his presence.

"It's fine," Tom repeated. "He can stay."

"Tom-"

"What did you wish to speak about?"

She briefly looked upward as if asking the gods to help her before she sighed. "Do you have any idea what impact being associated with the Malfoy's - no offence - will have on your case?"

"Yes."

" _Then why in hell are you here?!_ " She shot angrily, unable to control her sudden anger at his nonchalant answer.

He, unexpectedly, seemed almost lost for words. "I couldn't stay in there," he said simply.

"And _why_ the hell not?! They fed you! They kept you clean! It only would have been for a few months-"

"I have responsibilities. I can't just take a few months off-"

"You weren't on _vacation_ , Tom! You're standing _murder_ charges!"

"I know very well what I'm being accused of."

"Then _act like it!_ Your image is your strongest asset! Possibly your _only_ asset right now! A public association with _known_ criminals - no offence - may very well ruin your case! I'm going to have a _hell_ of a time explaining that to a jury!"

"Just, do your best."

"Oh. _Ohh,_ 'do my best'? ' _Do my best'?! Why didn't I think of that?!_ " She borderline screeched, waving her arms about as her voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'll be lucky if you only get _one_ life sentence!"

"I trust you."

Thrown off my his gentle delivery, she sighed again, this time in true exasperation.

 _What had she done in her past life to deserve this?_

"What _responsibilities_ could you possibly have that couldn't wait?"

"Work commitments."

Two words, and the thin string of patience she'd managed to hold on to burst into flames.

"For the _love_ of _god_ , Tom!" She screeched, her tone now as shrill as her throat would allow. "You work in an _antique_ store!"

She didn't see Lucius' slow eye roll.

"If you can't convince _me_ that you've managed to convince a judge to grant you bail for non-illegal reasons, _how on earth do you expect to convince the jury?!_ "

"I couldn't stand it, alright?!"

She stilled at his raised voice, having matched her own.

"I couldn't-" he stopped to run his hands through his hair. "Being _alone_ in that-that _cell_ for eighteen hours a day, with nothing but my _head_ , I just couldn't-"

"Don't," she interrupted quickly, feeling herself being swept up in his emotional display, but immediately recognising it for what it was worth. "Okay? Don't speak about it now. Bottle this _all-_ " she gestured to his body in entirety - "up, and save it for when you're on the stand."

The sigh she released did nothing for her blood pressure.

"Lord knows, you're going to need it."

* * *

 **14 days until trial**

"Potter?"

Harry jolted at his name. After having been in the small waiting room for what felt like an hour, his senses had been lulled into a state of laziness. Stretching as he stood, the lanky young man followed the elder lawyer through into his office, noting the high number of certificates adorning the walls.

"Take a seat," Moody instructed, pouring a glass of water. Harry did as instructed.

"Alright," he began, satisfied as Harry slowly sipped at the water. "We've got you scheduled for the tenth of January, should the trial go to plan."

Harry cleared his throat. "If it doesn't?"

"We'll cross that bridge when if and when we come to it. Don't worry, Potter," he said with a tone that was surprisingly soft for the rugged man. "We only need a guilty verdict for one of the seven murders to put him away. Riddle doesn't have a chance in hell of acquittal."

Harry nodded, though his expression made it clear he didn't quite believe Moody.

Moody cleared his throat and passed a stack of papers to Harry. "These are the questions I'd like to go through with you on the stand. Have a read, let me know if there are any problems, plan out your answers."

Harry barely scanned the list, still distracted by the doubt that had been weighing him down for weeks. Before he could decide otherwise, he mustered the courage to speak what was on his mind.

"R-Riddle's lawyer... I've read about her. Hasn't lost a case in the last year-"

"And just who do you think it was that taught her?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Hey," Moody cut off. "You worry about seeing the bastard again. I'll worry about Granger."

"I just-"

"Mark my words, boy," the older man grumbled. "We'll get your parents their justice. Her streak has come to an end."

* * *

 **10 days until trial**

"How many times do we have to do this?"

"As many as it takes for you to get it right." Hermione crossed her arms. "Go again."

Tom sighed. "Hepzibah Smith was not only a loyal customer of Borgin and Burke's, but a friend of mine."

"How long did you know Ms. Smith?"

"Nine years, more or less."

"And how would you describe your friendship?"

"More than anything else, professional. My job is to appraise rare antiques and to negotiate the store's interests. As one of our most valuable benefactors, a close relationship with Ms. Smith-"

"Hepzibah."

Tom's lips thinned at yet another one of her corrections. "A close relationship with _Hepzibah_ was crucial to my job performance."

"No," Hermione said at once. "Any suggestion that you had anything remotely close to a manipulative relationship with one of the victims would be suicide for your case."

"Suicide's sounding awfully nice right about now-"

" _I heard that!_ "

Tom sighed, louder this time, and sunk back into his chair. "Haven't we done this enough?"

"We cant afford to waste any more time-"

"I need a break, Hermione." She wasn't sure when she had become 'Hermione' as opposed to 'Ms. Granger', but she was sure it was somewhere around the time they started practicing for the trial at Tom's apartment. "You do, too. We've been doing this all day."

"We have nine more days - _five_ more, really, if you don't count the weekends-"

"I'm exhausted-"

"You'll have time to be exhausted _after_ you've been acquitted."

Tom rubbed at the shadow of stubble that had grown on his jawline. "Jesus Christ."

"He's not going to help you!"

"Hermione-"

"I don't know why you're being so relaxed about this! This is your life! We are quite literally fighting for your life here, and all you're interested in doing-"

" _Hermione._ "

" _What?!_ "

"Come with me," he instructed as rose in a fluid movement and left the room.

"Wha- _where_ are you going?" She called after him.

"To get you a drink."

She audibly growled as she followed him through to his kitchen.

"Do you think we're doing this for _fun?_ Do you even _care?_ Because it seems like-"

"Of course I do," he said, pulling a whiskey bottle from the upper shelf of his pantry. "But you're stressing even more than I am." He was heavy handed, pouring what surely exceeded a standard drink into two short glasses.

"Someone has to." She eyed the volume in the glasses suspiciously.

"I may not be a lawyer, but if you step into court as tightly strung as you currently are, it won't be long before you... snap," he finished with a shrug, topping off both drinks with coke.

She held a firm glare in his direction as he slid one of the glasses across the counter toward her.

"To your upcoming victory," he said, raising his own glass and flashing his pristinely white teeth.

She tried to fight it, she really did, but the corner of her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. She wasn't sure what it was about this man; something about his mannerisms, something about the way he _moved._

Either way, whatever it was, the smile won out and she couldn't bring herself to stay mad.

She took the glass he'd offered as her resolve cracked. Raising it, she corrected, "to your acquittal."

* * *

 **Day 1. R v. Riddle**

"Number twenty-four."

As the first of the jurors' numbers was called, Hermione quickly scanned her list.

 _Number twenty-four. Reginald Cattermole. Government employee._

"Number thirteen."

 _Number thirteen. Alicia Spinnet. Student._

"Number six."

 _Number six. Fleur Delacour-Weasley. Stay-at-home mother._

Hermione allowed the jury selection to proceed, watching patiently as Anthony Goldstein, Oliver Wood, Irma Pince, Demelza Robins, Daphne Greengrass, and Doris Crockford were called to join the jury unchallenged.

It was only once they reached the tenth selection that she was forced to act, as Tom gripped her arm.

Juror number three was a young woman by the name of Amy Benson. She didn't see anything questionable about the woman herself, and as a manager of a cafe, she didn't think she particularly sounded like an unacceptable juror. Still, trusting her defendant, she challenged her nonetheless.

The rest of the jury was completed without challenge as Ernie Macmillan and Terry Boot joined the panel.

Looking over their finalised panel of jurors, Hermione was as satisfied as she was going to get. They had a good mix of young and old, male and female, employed and unemployed. Diversity was key.

She gave Tom a small nod of encouragement.

 _There was hope. They were well-practiced. They could do this._

She glanced at Moody.

 _She could do this._

With their complete jury, and the Honourable Judge Cornelius Fudge's opening statement ready to begin, all of the pieces were, at last, set.

Regina v. Tom Marvolo Riddle had begun.

* * *

I lol'ed at Judge Fudge


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 3. R. v Riddle**

"Dr. Lupin," Hermione began, choosing a gentle start for her first cross-examination of the case. The first impression with the jury was crucial, after all. "You've personally overseen all seven of the crime scene analyses, correct?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Lupin, could you please refer back to evidence log number four?"

Lupin re-opened the booklet he'd been going through for the last few hours on the stand with Moody - the one containing the summaries of the crime scene analyses.

Hermione waited for the jury members to shuffle back to their own booklets before continuing. "As my learned friend Mr. Moody surmised, there were striking similarities between all seven of the murders... is this right?"

"Yes."

"Would you mind reiterating these for the jury?"

If Lupin was bothered by the repetitive questioning, he did a good job of hiding it. "The placing of the bodies was the most obvious similarity. All seven were placed intentionally, all bowing down... as if they were praying, or worshipping. All were stripped naked. The cause of death for all seven was concluded to be blood loss. All of the scenes were cleaned, thoroughly with bleach. No material from the culprit was recovered at any of the scenes. All of the victims were found in their own homes, aside from the fifth victim. No signs of any break ins. Nothing was found to be stolen from any of the scenes."

"All of these similarities led you to what Mr. Moody previously described as an 'obvious' conclusion'," she said slowly, clearly. "Could you please remind the jury of this conclusion?"

"It is highly likely that the murders were committed by the same individual."

"That is, these killings were likely the work of a serial killer?"

"Yes."

"The first victim, Miss Myrtle Warren, was found on the thirteenth of June, nineteen-ninety-nine, correct?"

Lupin flicked through the papers in front of him. "I - yes, that's the date."

She nodded slowly. "Her cause of death was, I believe, blood loss due to an incision in the neck, damaging both left and right carotid arteries?"

He checked the report. "That's correct."

"The coroners report found that the wound was clean. Would I be right in saying that this means that the incision would have been made with a single stroke of the murder weapon?"

"Yes."

"Possibly a knife?"

Lupin was considerate of his word selection. "A knife could have made the incision, yes."

"Is it of your opinion that in order for someone to injure another in such a manner, a high level of knowledge in human anatomy would be required?"

"Yes," Lupin said surely. "It's not as simple as it seems in the movies."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully.

"In nineteen ninety-nine, the accused, Mr. Riddle, was twenty-one years old and a full time student of Hogwarts University. He majored in anthropology. Do you know what subject anthropology entails, Dr. Lupin?"

"I believe that's the study of human behaviour."

"Indeed," Hermione agreed, taking her time between her next words. "Is it of your opinion that a man of twenty-one with no medical training whatsoever would have been able to make an incision such as the one suffered by Miss Warren?"

At the same time that Lupin leaned forward and stated a clear, "no,", Moody rose from where he sat. "Objection, Your Honour."

"Mr. Moody?" Fudge looked down his glasses.

"Dr. Lupin is not qualified to comment on the knowledge that the accused may or may not have."

Fudge's watch lingered on Hermione. "Overruled, Mr. Moody. Ms. Granger's question was rather clearly stated hypothetically. Dr. Lupin, if you would be so kind as to re-state your answer?"

Hermione pursed her lips, trying not to let her satisfaction show as Moody fought the subtle scowl on his lips.

"No," Lupin said clearly into his microphone. "I highly doubt that a man of such a young age, without medical training could have made such an incision."

Hermione smiled politely at the witness, before glancing at the jury.

 _All she needed was reasonable doubt._

"No further questions, Your Honour."

* * *

"You were very impressive in there today," Riddle said as they made the journey through the courthouse, flanked by his sizeable security detail.

"Thank you. I hope you're beginning to understand the importance of a well-prepared defence," she said almost cheerfully, fighting a small smile at his compliment.

"Yes. I find myself learning a great deal from you." He smirked. "You should come by tomorrow. After we're done here, I mean. There's a lot more we could go through for next week."

" _Oh_ , would you look who's suddenly changed their tune," she said without realising how their relationship had become borderline _playful_. "I never thought I'd see the day. It's a shame it's come on a month too late."

He looked at her with an odd gleam in his eye that she couldn't _quite_ place and said, "maybe the trial's not all I wanted to discuss."

She was thankful that her feet didn't trip over the same way her mind did at his words. She'd never been the most _tuned in_ when it came to men - let alone beautiful ones - and it hadn't improved as she'd reached her mid-twenties, and so she found herself at a loss.

Was he... trying to _flirt_ with her?

"I-I'm not sure what else you could possibly mean," she said, although her flushed cheeks probably told him the opposite.

He laughed, deep and _genuinely_ , in a way she'd only heard a handful of times. "I'm teasing you. But I honestly am very interested in what you do. If I wasn't learning about it in these _particular_ circumstances, I'd be very happy to learn more about you, and the legal system."

"Oh."

They were close to the exit of the courthouse now. Waiting just outside on the steps, she knew there would be a media frenzy, as there had been everyday this week. She felt particularly bad for Tom; even if she _did_ manage to win him his freedom, his face had been released in the media. His reputation would be forever tarnished.

"How about it, then?"

Her mouth felt dry. She knew what she should say. She knew what the Judge, Moody and the board would all have her say. Anything that wasn't strictly professional with a client was a bad idea, let alone a client with _murder_ charges, regardless of whether they actually did it or not.

But instead of speaking the words she should have said, she felt herself uttering an "oh, alright then."

He grinned down at her with the staggeringly beautiful smile that was almost as rare as his laugh just in time for them to pass through the large doors.

She was without an opportunity to regret her words, for then they were swarmed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 4. R. v. Riddle**

"Please state your name."

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"Could you please share with the jury your job title?"

"I am a criminal psychologist with the New Scotland Yard."

"You've worked closely over the last two decades with Dr. Lupin to put together a profile of the suspect of this case?"

"Yes."

"Could you please give us a summary of your conclusions? You may use your notes, if you wish."

Dumbledore leaned forward as he passed his watch over those in the courtroom, his confidence that of a man who had been through this process many times.

"One who commits a murder such as these may not leave behind physical evidence, but often will leave behind traces of their personality, whether they intend to or not. In this particular case, however, our suspect longed to tell us about himself," Dumbledore explained. "He wanted to be known, he wanted to be feared. The self-referral as 'Lord' combined with the fact that the victims were all placed as if worshipping, suggests to us a high level of narcissism. The clothing of each of the victims was removed, indicating to us the he was possibly... _degrading_ his victims; he perhaps thought them lesser than himself. They may have even... offended him in some way. He might've been punishing them."

Those in the courtroom hung on his every word, though Hermione noticed that for the most part, Dumbledore's attention was focused on Riddle. If it bothered Tom, he didn't show it; the innocent, soft frown on his forehead as he listened remained perfectly in place.

"The kills were all clean. He had a proved method for ending the lives of his victims that he did not sway from. He was confident in his actions. He knew what he was doing, he actively communicated this with us. He _wanted_ some sort of communication with us, and he chose his scenes as his medium. He did - or _does_ \- not expect to be caught."

Moody smiled, almost cheekily. "So am I correct in saying that you were looking for a narcissistic, arrogant, psychopath?"

Dumbledore shared his smile as he agreed, "indeed. But these traits would not be easily identified. The cleanliness of the crime scenes, and lack of breaking into the victims' homes, suggests that the murders were not random. They were planned, and executed meticulously. We expect the culprit to be of a very high level of intelligence. Considering that all of the murders occurred over a span of almost two decades, it is safe to assume that the culprit is adept, or rather _brilliant_ , at hiding his true nature."

Moody nodded, allowing a long pause to fall over the courtroom as the jury scribbled down their notes. "You assessed the accused Tom Marvolo Riddle at 2.34 pm of the 19th of December, 2017, correct?"

"Yes."

"I have your assessment report in front of me, there should be a copy to your left, as there should be with each of our jurors," Moody said. "Could you confirm that this is your report?"

"Yes. It is."

Moody shuffled through to the last page. "You came to the conclusion that Mr. Riddle is of a sane mind and is fit to stand trial?"

"Yes."

"And in your notes panel on page four, you state that it is your professional opinion that Mr. Riddle is a highly intelligent individual?"

"That is correct."

"As we've now heard from both you and our previous witness, a likely characteristic of the killer is a high level of intelligence. Could you attest to whether a man of Mr. Riddle's intelligence could have-"

"Objection!"

"Ms. Granger?" Fudge queried, almost lazily.

"Your Honour, there are a high number of individuals within our society who would fall under the category of highly intelligent, many within this room included. One's mental capacity is purely correlation and cannot be taken as evidence."

Fudge glanced between Hermione and Moody. "Overruled, Ms. Granger. On with your question, Mr. Moody."

"Thank you, Your Honour." Moody's eyes lingered on Hermione. "As I was saying, Dr. Dumbledore, would it be of your professional opinion that someone of Mr. Riddle's intelligence would be capable of committing these crimes?"

"Yes."

Hermione exhaled slowly, her grip on her pen tightening.

"Do you think Mr. Riddle committed these crimes?"

Dumbledore barely had the chance to open his mouth before Hermione rose. " _Objection_ , Your Honour."

"Sustained. Members of the jury, if you would please disregard Mr. Moody's last question."

"Thank you, Your Honour," Moody said, once more meeting Hermione's eyes. "No further questions."

Hermione tried to mask her irritation with Moody as she accepted the chance to cross-examine and rose to the floor.

Moody may have made a fair point... but she had a better one. She planned on keeping her part short, sweet, and most of all, _memorable._

"Dr. Dumbledore," she started, pausing for effect. "To reiterate what Mr. Moody has established, based on the profiling of the murder scenes, you concluded that the culprit was likely to be a highly intelligent psychopath. Correct?"

"Yes."

"In your assessment with Mr. Riddle, you concluded him to be of sane mind. That is to say, your evaluation did not suggest psychopathic tendencies?"

"No, but-"

"No, it did not suggest psychopathic tendencies?"

"Correct-"

"No further questions, Your Honour."

* * *

 **Day 4. R. v. Riddle**

"You haven't yet enlightened me as to how you've come to know Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione prompted after they finished their dinner that night, having been curious about the matter since his bail was granted.

Tom took another sip of his wine. "We went to high school together, were in the same classes since we were twelve years old. We've been friends for the better of almost thirty years."

"T-that's it?" she said, shaking her head disbelievingly.

"Did you expect something more?"

"Yes," she stared at once. "He's a known drug dealer."

Something close to a smirk dragged at the corner of Tom's lips. "He's never been charged."

"Only because the police haven't found enough evidence," she objected, meeting his eyes. "What? You don't honestly believe that he's _not_ a drug dealer?"

He laughed. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to, I see that face you're pulling."

He shrugged. "The law states, _innocent until proven guilty_. Besides, what Lucius' company may or may not be shipping into the country is hardly any of my concern."

She shook her head disapprovingly. "Now that he's associated himself with your case, it most certainly _is_ your concern."

His laugh was deeper this time. "Here I was thinking that the wine would get you _off_ my back."

"Hey," she chimed, feinting offence. "It's my _job_ to be on your back."

"I'd much rather have you on yours."

She almost dropped her wine glass.

"I - um... aside from the fact that that was _truly_ awful... are you flirting with me?"

He glanced at her lips, his bottom one between his teeth. "Yes."

"...oh."

"Well, I was trying to. Clearly I wasn't doing a very good job of it. Did you want me to stop?"

"I... you should."

"I didn't ask whether I _should,_ I asked whether you wanted me to."

She blinked. "Remind me, of the two of us, which one is the lawyer?"

That _laugh_ again. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"I'm just... I'm not used to your honesty," she said truthfully. "Most men... would not be quite so blunt with their advances."

"I might not have the time to be anything but blunt."

"You will. Have the time, that is."

He made a sound of amusement as he ran the tips of his fingers over the back of her hand.

The touch was electric.

"I know. I'm in very capable hands."

She should've stopped him. His affections could jeopardise her case.

But she didn't.

"Is that your way of saying you'd rather me not be quite so blunt?"

She felt the back of her neck heating up. "It's... an uncomfortable situation. You're my client."

"You can't always choose who you fall for."

"No. You can't," she said, watching the way his fingers moved over her skin in a bit to stop herself from bursting into flames. "But you can choose whether you act on it or not."

He watched her intently, with each second that passed slowly increasing the temperature of her cheeks.

But then he cracked a smile and the spell was, thankfully, broken. "You know what I like about you, Hermione?" He asked as his tone became playful somewhat abruptly, while he reached for his wine.

"That I'm going to win you your freedom?"

He laughed. "Technically, not wrong, but no, that's not all."

His chocolate eyes, a shade dark enough for her to have trouble making out his pupils, were deep, and although she felt almost at risk of drowning in them, she held their contact.

"You're not like any woman I've met before."

Hermione, being the complete opposite of a romantic, said after having almost snorted, "You can't have met many women, then."

Amusement lit up his features. "You tell it like it is. There's no bullshit with you."

"I have to tell it like it is, I'm a lawyer."

"You're a _defence_ lawyer. Your job is quite literally the opposite."

"Not if my charge is innocent."

He smiled. "I'm beginning to see that any form of argument with you is a futile effort."

"You'd do well to remember that."

She was grateful that he didn't try to bring any flirtation back into the conversation after that. He took his hand back and allowed her to return the subject at hand to preparing for the trial, and discussing her planned strategies for the witnesses to come.

They managed to get through a lot of what she had wanted to discuss, even despite their respective states of tipsiness.

But, although her intentions were true, her efforts in keeping the conversation platonic it had seemingly proved to be a waste, for somehow, as they had been innocently saying goodbye, Tom's tongue had ended up in her mouth and her hands had ended up through his hair. He'd made easy work of pinning her between himself and his hallway wall with her thighs hitched firmly around his waist, and before she knew it, he'd lifted her through to his bedroom.

She hadn't had the chance to study it. If she had, she might've noticed the blatant lack of personal items, but alas, she did not. She was far too focused on how the muscles of his torso moved as he did, on how he felt around her, over her, in her. She did, however, notice the large tattoo on the inside of his left forearm. Not that she had the chance to ask him about it; he'd ensured that no conversation would be taking place the moment he pulled her legs up around his shoulders.

In hindsight, it had been inevitable. Their mutual attraction had to come to a head one way or another, and it had been such an obscenely long amount of time since she'd had sex that she didn't have a hope of upholding her reservations.

She'd always had a thing for older men and at a ripe thirteen years older than herself, Tom was perfect - aside from the murder suspicions, of course. He'd lived. He'd made it through his younger years, and as a middle-aged man, he knew what he wanted. But better yet, he seemed to know exactly what _she_ wanted, too.

It was a trait she'd never been lucky enough to find with men her own age. Eager to find their own release, she'd rarely come across a man who particularly cared whether she got off or not.

It was even _rarer_ still to come across a man who managed to get her there multiple times in the same night.

"I don't normally do this," Hermione said as she hurried out of his bed the next morning, racing to gather her clothing.

"I should certainly hope not," he commented dryly, watching as she pulled her skirt up over her hips as he leaned back against the headboard.

"I should've been preparing, I can't believe I-"

"It's the prosecution's witness. I can't imagine you'll have much to ask of the coroner."

She took a moment to stop, not bothering to hide how impressed she was of how well he seemed to have caught onto the case.

He had a great deal on the line, she supposed. It was only natural that he'd switch on to the gist of things.

"Still. That's not an excuse. You're my client, we shouldn't have-"

He moved toward her suddenly, the sight of the sheets falling away from his still naked body rendering her speechless.

"I won't tell if you won't." He pulled her against him and slowly slid his hands around her waist, his long fingers making short work of the buttons of her skirt that she'd just done up.

"Tom..."

"Yes?"

"You should stop," she breathed as he pressed against her back, feeling his hard length against her.

"We have a few more hours," he murmured into the skin of her neck before his teeth gently bit down over her collarbone, giving her chills in places that she didn't know such a thing was possible.

"Last night was enough... we can't..."

But although she uttered the words, she didn't do anything to stop his roaming hands.

"Perhaps I don't mind living with a guilty conscience."

She didn't read into his mumbled words as she should have. In fact, she hardly managed to register them at all. The feel of his fingers pushing into her, softly stretching her was so intoxicating that her ability to consider anything other than him was impaired.

And so instead of questioning him, she bit back a moan, and come a few hours later, she couldn't remember what he'd said at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 10. R. v. Riddle**

"Prosecution's witness?"

"We call Dr. Severus Snape, Your Honour."

In her peripheral vision, Hermione saw Tom tense beside her. She placed a hand on his upper arm, relieved to feel his muscles relax underneath her touch. While she knew he was nervous about Snape's testimony, he had also been confident about their friendship.

If he was right... they had nothing to worry about.

If he was wrong... well.

Dr. Snape was a tall man, entering the courtroom with a foreboding presence. That was good in case Tom was wrong, Hermione registered. An unlikeable witness was always far easier to discredit than a likeable one.

"Please state your name," Moody began after Snape had taken his vow.

"Dr. Severus Snape." His voice matched his outward appearance; deep and cold. Distant.

That was good.

"You are a professor, under the employ of Hogwarts University?"

"Yes, I am one of three professors in the discipline of chemistry."

"You have received numerous awards in your time in your position?"

"Yes."

Moody nodded, taking the chance to glance toward Tom. "How long have you known the accused, Mr. Riddle?"

"Since two-thousand and one."

"Seventeen years?"

"Yes."

"How did you meet Mr. Riddle?"

"Through a mutual friend of ours, Lucius Malfoy."

"Of Malfoy Enterprises?"

"Yes."

"How did you come to meet him? Mr. Malfoy, that is?"

"I attended school with his wife, Narcissa." Snape's face was straight, though he seemed visibly irritated with the manner of questions. "We ran in the same circles. She introduced us."

"Right," Moody glanced in Tom's direction again before facing Snape. "How would you describe your relationship with Mr. Riddle?"

"Tumultuous."

Moody cracked a smirk. "Would you have called yourselves friends?"

"Yes," Snape said, and Hermione noticed that he intentionally wasn't looking in Tom's direction as he spoke. "For a time, I believe that I may have been Tom's closest friend."

"How would you describe Mr. Riddle?"

"Ambitious. Determined. Independent... a bit of a loner. We had this in common."

"Would you say that Mr. Riddle is a man who has violent tendencies?"

Snape paused.

It was a long pause.

"Not that I witnessed."

"Not that you witnessed?" Moody probed. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"Multiple... acquaintances had commented on their... _fear_ of Tom, I suppose. He could be a bit... intimidating. But I never saw violence."

"I see. And when did your friendship come to an end?"

"The first day of November, last year."

"The day after Lily and James Potter were found?"

"Yes."

Moody's eyes grazed over the jury members. "Why did your friendship come to an end?"

"Because I believed him responsible for their deaths."

Hermione watched Tom who had clenched his eyes closed, and noticed his leg bouncing under the table nervously. While they'd known this was coming, and they'd known that someone had accused him, she couldn't help but take on a bit of Tom's upset. He hadn't known it had been _Snape._ He'd been sure it _wasn't_ Snape.

"To clarify; you believed that he ended their lives, with intent to do so?"

"Yes."

"Why would you come to believe such a thing?"

For the first time since he had taken his place on the stand, Snape's dark eyes glanced in Tom's direction.

"He told me."

Hermione shifted through her notes on Dr. Severus Snape calmly, though it took every ounce of her self-restraint to maintain her calm.

That was not the answer she had been expecting.

"He _told_ you?"

"Yes."

"He told you that he had ended the lives of Lily and James Potter?"

Snape hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Hermione noticed. The pause, the one the jury would have missed, might've been just what she needed.

"He apologised."

 _There it was._

"He apologised," Moody repeated for effect. "If we could back track just for a moment, Dr. Snape, could you please tell us when it was that you spoke with Mr. Riddle?"

"The day after- the first of November, last year."

"Did you meet Mr. Riddle that day?"

"Yes. Well – no. He came by. To my home."

"And what time was this?"

"It was the late afternoon."

"What happened when he came to your home?"

"I didn't answer the door. I'd heard what happened by this point, and I didn't want to see anyone," Snape explained, his brows gradually moving closer together as he spoke. "Tom let himself in, as he often did; he knew the trick to getting the door open."

"That was a usual occurrence? Mr. Riddle letting himself into your home?"

"Yes. I didn't make it to the university that day, so I assumed he was coming to check on me," Snape explained. "I was in the bedroom, I think. He came in and, I remember it clearly; he looked... disappointed, and the first thing he said was, 'I take it you've heard, then'."

"And then what happened?"

"I don't think I said anything. He came closer and tried to speak to me, but I wasn't in any state," Snape's voice was close to breaking. "I remember Tom being in front of me, I think he was kneeling, holding me up. And then he... apologised."

"Could you please explain to the jury the manner by which he apologised?"

"He... said that he did what had to be done. That he knew how much she meant to me and he hadn't meant to hurt h-her, but she was there, and she'd _seen_ -"

Hermione swore internally. The way his voice broke in all of the right places... either Severus Snape was a brilliant actor, or he was telling the truth.

She glanced at Tom.

Or... maybe he simply _thought_ he was telling the truth.

"The 'she' you refer to being Lily Potter?"

"Yes."

"How did you respond to Mr. Riddle's apology?"

"I... was upset. I couldn't understand why he would say those things... I didn't realise what he meant, not until he said that it had been for the best. That I wouldn't be distracted anymore. That I was better off without her."

Moody let the courtroom fall back into silence as he slowly moved on the floor.

"What happened next?"

"I acted on impulse. I thought it was all I could do to agree with him, to go along with what he said until he left."

"You thought you were in danger?"

"Yes. I felt his lack of patience with me. I could see him becoming angry."

Moody nodded slowly, glancing over the jury and scanning their faces one by one.

"Thank you, Dr. Snape. No further questions, Your Honour."

Hermione swore internally. She wasn't ready, and her time to put together a solid defence was over much too quickly as Fudge - _for once_ \- leaned forward swiftly. "Ms. Granger," he invited, "does the defence care to cross-examine?"

"Yes, Your Honour," she said, taking her time to rise. Still far more uncertain than she'd care to be, Hermione decided on her course of action quickly. She cleared her throat and gave Tom another lingering glance before she took the floor.

"Dr. Snape," she began, contemplating her words carefully. "How did you know Mrs. Lily Potter?"

"We were childhood friends. I met her when I was ten years old."

"You attended school together?"

"Yes."

"Both high school and university?"

"Yes."

"You both majored in chemistry together?"

"That's correct."

"Would it be sufficient to say that you were good friends with Lily Potter?"

"Yes."

"Best friends, perhaps?"

"Once, yes."

"How did you feel when you heard of her death?"

His brows furrowed. "I..."

"Were you... sad? Distressed? Distraught, even?"

"I... I cannot describe to you how I felt," he eventually said.

"You... cannot?"

"No."

"Why is that?"

"I... there aren't words."

"One of the earliest stages of grief is anger, Dr. Snape. Did you feel _angry_ when you learned of her death?"

Moody stood, confidently, lazily. "I object, Your Honour. There is no relevance here."

"Overruled, Mr. Moody," Fudge said at once, though he glanced downward through his glasses at Hermione. "Get to the point, Ms. Granger."

"Were you _angry_ , Dr. Snape?" She asked, ignoring Moody's rather firm scowl.

Snape swallowed. "Absolutely."

Hermione made a sound of acknowledgement. "Was your friend at the time, Mr. Riddle, aware of your close friendship with Lily Potter?"

"Yes."

"So, upon hearing of her death, he, your friend at the time, who you said yourself might've wished to check up on you, might have wished to give you his sympathy in such a time of distress?"

"I... no. There was no sympathy. I-I'm not sure what you're asking."

"Dr. Snape, would it have been possible, that in your heavy state of grief - your state of anger - you may have mistaken what Mr. Riddle may or may not have said? That is, could it have been possible that you mistook a sympathetic apology for one entailing a confession?"

Snape scowled. "No. Not at all. I know what he said. He was clear. I know what he meant."

"As you gave your earlier testimony to Mr. Moody, you specifically said that there were events you _thought_ happened. You weren't sure about what you yourself had said, so, what makes you so sure about what Mr. Riddle had said?"

"I know what he said."

She hummed, making her doubt clear. Hermione slowly passed her eyes over each of the jury members.

Her next question wasn't necessary. He'd made the answer clear enough already. But she needed to be sure the jurors had caught on as she had.

"Were you in love with Lily Potter?"

" _Objection,_ Your Honour."

"I withdraw," Hermione conceded quickly. "No further questions, Your Honour."

* * *

It took a great deal of effort to keep her mouth shut. She had been bursting at the seams the moment the court was called to a close, but she managed to hold onto it.

Until they were alone, of course.

"I can't believe you!"

"But you can believe _him?_ "

"That's not what I mean!" She squawked as she dumped her bag on the kitchen counter. "I _mean_ , didn't you think that a conversation with Snape about the murder victims - _the day after the event_ -was something you should have mentioned?!"

"I didn't think it was important."

Her eyes widened like saucers. "He was in love with her!" She said, unleashing every ounce of her incredulousness. "You saw him up there! I spoke to him for barely two minutes and I could see it! Surely you could too?!"

"He was... infatuated with her. But she married another man, he knew-"

"Are you thick?! That was not a man who has moved on!"

Tom exhaled through his nose. "I didn't think... how was I meant to know he'd interpret me that way?"

Her glare was frosty and a weaker man would've crumbled.

"I had nothing. _Nothing._ You left me completely unprepared;I had to go for his jugular, Tom. Do you know what that feels like, to do that to a person?!"

Tom made an odd sound as he approached her. "I'm sorry. But... you handled it well."

"Like _hell_ -"

"No, listen to me." His hands cradled her face between his hands, the tenderness of the touch disarming. "You're a better lawyer than Moody. They're eating out of _your_ hand, not his. You have the whole courtroom in your control."

"That's not true-"

"It is," he said, as his fingers laced their way through her hair. "They are. I've been sitting in there just as long as you have. I see the jury just as you do. They're far more receptive to you than they are to him."

Hermione knew she was a good lawyer. It was her life's work. She _had_ to be a good lawyer, trained by Alastor Moody himself. But _better_ than him? She thought she could be, one day. She aspired to be. But she surely wasn't there yet; she'd opposed him before, but she'd never beaten him.

"You just need to... acknowledge it," he said, his voice dropping seductively. "If you _use_ it, take _advantage_ of it... well... you're good already. Just another push, and you'll be... _incredible_."

His words almost made her forget she was mad.

"You'll bounce back," he said as his tone dropped lower, moving in such that his lips brushed hers as he spoke. "Severus is... just an obstacle."

"Tom..."

"Hmm?" Though his sound was a receptive one, he took her ability to speak from her as he caught her lips with his.

And as he hitched her skirt up, she forgot what she was going to say.

* * *

 **Day 19. R. v. Riddle**

Hermione was nervous. It was an infrequent and unwelcome feeling for her in the courtroom in recent years, but there it was, sinking into the pit of her stomach.

This was the witness. _The_ witness. If Snape had been an obstacle, than _he_ would be a solid barrier. The source of Moody's confidence, the one who would either make or break her case.

And he was a fucking teenager.

 _The jury would_ _love him_.

"Could you please describe to the court the events of the night of October thirty-first?"

Young Harry Potter all but radiated uncertainty.

"When I arrived home that night, the lights were off," he answered nervously. "I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but, Mum knew I was coming. They were expecting me, and it wasn't like them to forget. But it wasn't until I found the door unlocked, that I really started to worry."

"What did you do then?" Moody prompted. "Did you enter the house?"

"Yes. I did. The inside lights were on, but I don't remember hearing anything, and thinking that it was strange. So, I went through to the living r-room, and..."

Even on the side of the defence, Hermione couldn't help the nausea she felt in her stomach at his words. She didn't need to hear him say it. She knew what he found, what he saw... surely he wouldn't make him say it...

"What did you find?" Moody asked, gently yet encouraging, in a way that was out of character.

"My p-parents," Harry managed, and Hermione, who had had years to prepare herself for these moments felt the hardened walls she'd put in place threatening to slip away. "I didn't realise at first, what I was seeing. I was i-in shock, I think. But I remember the smell. The _bleach._ When I close my eyes, I can still smell it."

The courtroom was coldly silent, only the sounds of the woman at the front typing out the transcript filled the space.

"I went to leave, I knew I needed to call someone, but I needed to get out first. I remember having trouble breathing. But... but then..."

"Take your time, Mr. Potter."

"There was a man. In the hallway. He was dressed in all black, except for his gloves. They were blue, under all of the blood. He didn't say anything, he just... looked at me. As if he were... I dunno, curious," Harry's face contorted as he fiddled with the papers in front of him anxiously. "I don't remember what I said, exactly. I think I yelled at him. I think I asked... why... what they'd done... he didn't answer though. He just... _looked at me._ And then he moved. Really, really fast, and there was a bang, and... I remember waking up in the hospital. The doctor - she told me I'd been shot. That I was lucky to be alive."

Moody allowed the silence to linger.

"Could you please refer back to evidence log number sixteen, Mr. Potter?"

As Harry found the sheet of paper, the one she knew had the drawing on it, Hermione's feeling of dread grew.

"The man you saw in your parents' house... was his face covered at all?"

"No. I saw him clearly."

Moody lifted his own copy of evidence log sixteen. "Is this the man you saw in your house that evening, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes." Harry was resolute, no longer radiating uncertainty.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

And then he looked at Tom.

The whole courtroom did.

And in that instant, for the first time throughout the whole case, Hermione felt the first true glimmer of doubt in her defendant.


	5. Chapter 5

**Day 19. R. v. Riddle**

"Before I go in there... before I do this, I need you to look me in the eye," she urged in hushed tones as their recess was coming to a close, "and tell me. _Did you do this?_ "

"Jesus Christ." His hand swept through his hair which had fallen far from the neat state it had been in at the beginning of the day.

"I'm serious, Tom."

"No. Okay? I didn't fucking do it. You know that. I thought you were on my side-"

"I _am_."

"Then what the fuck is this, then?"

"He's a _boy._ He's lost his parents, in an _unspeakable_ way. I couldn't live with myself if I tore him apart."

Tom shifted. "You're doing your job."

"That doesn't make it any eas-"

"All okay over here?"

Hermione felt her eye twitch.

"Mind your business, Alastor," she snapped.

He mouthed an 'ouch', but stepped back in the direction of the courtroom. "Good luck in there."

She glared until he was out of sight.

"It'll be okay," said Tom softly. "You've got this. Just... do as you've practiced."

His fingers brushed hers ever so lightly. It took her a moment to snatch her hand away.

"Not here," she snapped before she pushed out a lengthy sigh and glanced up at the ceiling, silently praying to any deity that would listen for the day to be over already. "Come on, let's just... get this over with."

* * *

"Mr. Potter," Hermione began, the nausea weighing thick and heavy in her stomach. "Do you have a job?"

"I'm a student."

"What are you studying?"

"Criminal psychology. I'm training to apply for the police force."

She faltered as she softened at his answer and was unable to withhold the words that followed. "I'm sorry you've had to learn about the legal system is such a way."

Harry nodded.

"You undertake your studies at Hogwarts University?"

"Yes."

"How do you get there each day?"

"I - sorry?"

"Do you... walk? Catch a train? Drive?"

"I catch the train."

"Everyday?"

"Yes."

"To clarify - when you were living with your parents in Godric's Hollow, you caught the train into London for your studies each day?"

"Yes."

"Whereabouts is Godric's Hollow?"

"West. About an hour-long trip to London by train."

"Thank you," she said softly before finding the papers she needed. "If the jury could please refer to evidence log number two? This should contain a record of the first interview with Mr. Riddle by the New Scotland Yard."

"Members of the jury, if you could please note that on page one of the transcript, line thirteen, Mr. Riddle has stated that he resides out of Oxford," she explained before turning back to the witness. "Mr. Potter, do you know where Oxford is?"

"Yes."

"Would you say that it's west of London?

"Yes," he answered, his expression well and truly confused now.

"On page three of the transcript, Mr. Riddle explains to the interviewing officer at the time, that he routinely catches a train to make it to his place of employment," Hermione explained to the courtroom. "Could it have been possible, Mr. Potter, that you'd seen Mr. Riddle in passing?"

"I... I mean... I _suppose_ I could have, but... if I ever did, I don't remember it."

Hermione nodded. "When Mr. Moody asked you about the events of the night of October thirty-first, you said there were aspects you didn't quite remember?"

Harry frowned, and Hermione could see the wheels turning as he began to catch on to where she was going. "Yes."

"When you woke up in the hospital and learned of what happened to you and your family... I'm sure it must have been a very hard time for you."

"Yes," Harry agreed, his jaw tightening. "It was."

Seeing the opportunity, knowing that juries always favoured defence lawyers who showed a bit of humanity, she said softly, "for what it's worth... I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Potter."

His jaw didn't slacken. "Thank you."

She reminded herself that she was just doing her job.

"On the same day that you woke, you spoke with the police, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you worked with an artist to put together an image of the man you saw in your parents' home in the week that followed?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Potter... could it have been possible that upon identifying the man, you unintentionally identified a man you'd perhaps been subconsciously seeing day after day in your daily commute?"

"No, I-I know who I saw!"

"You sustained a substantial head wound. Confusion is very common in such injuries-"

"Your Honour, I object," Moody interrupted. "Ms. Granger's mere suggestion that Mr. Potter was confused, is _completely_ unwarranted."

Fudge's lips pursed for a moment. "Objection overruled, Mr. Moody. Could you please repeat your question, Ms. Granger?"

But she didn't have to, for Harry took the opportunity to lean across the stand.

"I know who I saw."

"If you had trouble remembering some aspects of that night, how can you sure?"

Harry's determination did not falter. "I _know_ who I saw."

His eyes were locked on Tom.

 _And Tom was looking back._

She cleared her throat.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," she said softly. "No further questions."

* * *

 **Day 23. R. v. Riddle**

That weekend, Hermione lied.

She chose to tell Tom she'd be busy heading up to see her family in Yorkshire and wouldn't have the time to see him.

She just needed time to clear her head and she couldn't do that with him around. Her summary for the jury - what she considered to be the most important part of any trial - wasn't yet finalised and she needed the opportunity to re-study the case as closely as she could, without Tom's distractions and without her nagging conscience.

The case felt a bit more controllable after Moody finished with the last of the prosecution's witnesses. Now that she'd seen all of the cards he had to play, she could work harder at discrediting them.

Without considering her own emotional investment in the case, she felt confident. Most of Moody's argument was easy; circumstantial evidence was simple to discredit. The only real challenges were Snape and Potter. Snape, she thought she'd managed well enough, but Potter... well. He had been convincing.

But it was still anyone's case.

Hermione only had four witnesses lined up for the defence, three of them character witnesses, and the fourth being Tom himself. Normally she'd discourage her defendants from testifying, but Tom, being as well-spoken as he was, was potentially her greatest asset. She'd be mad not to use it, even with the risk of Moody's questioning.

Her first witness was a large man, one who's stomach hung over his belt and who's chuckle lightened up the courtroom. He reminded her a bit of Santa Claus. That was why she'd initially selected him; trusting likeable witness cane naturally to most.

"Dr. Slughorn," Hermione started that morning after the man had been sworn in. "How long have you known Mr. Riddle?"

"Since he was my student."

"During what years was he your student?"

"Oh, that would've been... nineteen ninety-seven, through to two-thousand and one, I think."

"You've known him twenty-one years?"

He thought about the math for a split second. "Yes."

"Thank you. How would you describe Mr. Riddle?"

"Oh," Slughorn sounded happily, "to this day, he remains the sharpest student I've ever had the privilege to teach."

"Have you ever known him to have aggressive tendencies?"

"No. Not at all." He almost seemed offended by the question.

"Can you elaborate for the jury, Dr. Slughorn?"

"Well... throughout his years as my student, Tom was always the first to lend a hand. Every opportunity, he'd take," Slughorn said. "Tutoring, mentoring the younger students, assisting in classes... and not once did he let me pay him for his work. I've only ever known him to be a kind soul."

"Have you kept in contact with Mr. Riddle since his graduation?"

"Yes. He's attended every one of my Christmas parties for the last sixteen years. Hasn't missed a single one."

She couldn't help her small smile. Slughorn's obvious admiration for Tom was... soothing for her doubts.

"If you had to describe Mr. Riddle in a single sentence, what would that sentence be?"

"Tom is... a caring, thoughtful, _brilliant_ man. My only disappointment was that he didn't choose to take his studies further. Had he taken my advice and gone into politics, well... I told him many times, he could've easily gone for Prime Minister," he added with his warm chuckle.

"Thank you, Dr. Slughorn. If I could ask one final question... do you believe Mr. Riddle to be capable of committing the crimes to which he has been accused?"

"No," Slughorn answered instantaneously, confidently.

"No further questions, Your Honour."


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 26. R. v. Riddle**

Questioning Tom in the courtroom was unnerving.

It shouldn't have been. She had long known he was on trial for murder, it wasn't a surprise.

Yet the twisting sensation in her stomach refused to fade away.

"Mr. Riddle," Hermione addressed gently, willing herself to ignore the discomfort. "You've known Dr. Severus Snape for... how long was it?"

"Seventeen years."

"That's quite a long time," she observed. "We heard from Dr. Snape some time ago now that the two of you were close?"

"That's correct."

"Can you tell me about your interaction on the first of November last year?"

Tom nodded. "I'd heard of what happened to James and Lily about... midday, I'd say. News of that caliber traveled fast," he said gently, just as they'd practiced. "It was a Wednesday, I think, and I knew Severus would be upset, so I took my break early that day to go check on him."

"Then what happened?"

"He didn't answer his door or his phone, but his car was in the drive. I let myself in, and found him in his bedroom."

"Did he speak to you then?"

"No. He was... it was clear he was devastated."

"Did you try to speak to him?"

"Yes," he said. "I tried to comfort him. He wasn't overly receptive, but I didn't want to leave him alone. I was concerned for what he might do."

"How do you mean?"

"Well... Severus has had... a hard life. Losing Lily, in such a way... I was worried it would push him over the edge. I thought he'd self-harm."

"Right. Do you remember what you said to Dr. Snape?"

"I told him that I was sorry for his loss, that I knew how he cared for her. I tried to reassure him, I mean... he'd been pining for her for years. For as long as I knew him, he'd been mad for her. I tried to reassure him that there would be others, that it wasn't the end for him, but... well, I suppose it was the wrong thing to say."

The faintest of smiles ghosted her lips. "Have you ever been in love, Mr. Riddle?"

"I... can't say I have, no."

Hermione glanced at the jury as she nodded. "What did Dr. Snape say then?"

"Nothing. He just stared and I think he nodded a bit, but he didn't _say_ anything. I... it was-"

"You became frustrated?"

"Yes," Tom admitted freely. "I did."

Hermione paused, taking her time mulling her words over. "At any point, did you confess to killing Lily and James Potter?"

" _No!_ Of course not!" He said at once, shifting in his seat. "I _never_ meant... I never even _thought_ I'd be interpreted that way, I only wanted to help! But I-I mean, I guess I've never been the most sensitive, and he just wouldn't _say_ anything, and I..."

"You were misunderstood," Hermione finished.

Tom breathed in deeply after the emotional display. "Yes."

She paused to survey those witnessing the trial and was almost distracted by the vivid green eyes of the Potter's son boring into her.

"Did you ever meet Lily and James Potter?"

Tom nodded. "I met James once, though I never had the honour of meeting Lily. Not officially, at least."

"How do you mean?"

"We weren't introduced."

"Right," Hermione sounded softly. "You said you met James once?"

"Yes. Two thousand and... six, I believe? At one of Horace's Christmas parties."

"Was this the only time?"

"Yes."

"Would you have called yourselves acquaintances?"

"Barely," he said quickly. "I doubt he even would've remembered my name."

"Right. Did you ever meet Cedric Diggory?"

"No." Tom's tone was light, natural. If she hadn't known his answers were rehearsed, she wouldn't have known it. "I heard of his death, though I didn't think much into it at the time. Not until the finger was directed at me, anyway."

"Did you ever meet Dr. Charity Burbage?"

"A handful of times, though I never took her classes personally. She always seemed like a kind woman."

"Bertha Jorkins?"

"No, we never met."

"Hepzibah Smith?"

"Yes," he said, his expression softening. "Hepzibah was a both a frequent client of the shop and a good friend of mine."

"How frequent?"

"She'd either come in or correspond weekly. Sometimes more, sometimes less depending on our stock."

"You say you were friends... how would you describe your relationship?"

"She was... well, I suppose she became somewhat of a motherly figure to me. I was... very sad when I heard of her passing."

The tense muscles of Hermione's shoulders released as he delivered it flawlessly. Just the right about of sadness, just the right amount of fondness. No reason for the jury to suspect Hepzibah's borderline sexual harassment.

It wouldn't do for them to know that detail.

"What about Myrtle Warren?"

"No, I never met her, either. She was a few years beneath me in University and I saw her around, but we never spoke."

"Thank you," Hermione said, continuing to take her time. "By my math, that makes four of the seven victims you weren't acquainted with?"

"That's correct."

"Mr. Riddle... did you ever have any dislike for any of the victims you did know?"

"No. As I said; they were all very kind people," he answered, leaving a pause before he added, "they didn't deserve what happened to them."

"Thank you," she finished. "I would now ask the jury to refer to evidence log number seventeen? Number seventeen is an image of a knife, supplied by the New Scotland Yard. One with a blade similar to what has been determined to be the murder weapon," she explained as they rummaged through their papers. "Mr. Riddle, have you ever owned a knife similar to this one?"

"No. I have not."

"Have you ever used a knife similar to this one?"

"The closest I've come would probably be a steak knife," he said, and Hermione very nearly frowned for the slight smile on his lips was almost _cheeky_.

"I take it then, that you're not a hunter?"

"Absolutely not."

She nodded once more. "I would like to take the opportunity to inform the jury that such a weapon has not yet been recovered, either in Mr. Riddle's possession or otherwise."

She didn't need to look back to know that Moody was glaring to kill.

But really, what did he expect?

"Thank you, Mr. Riddle. No further questions."

As they exchanged a lingering glance, Hermione was comforted seeing that Tom didn't look nervous. He appeared completely in control.

She gave Moody a tight smile as he rose.

It was not reciprocated.

"For the last ten years, you've held a position with an antique store, known as Borgin and Burke's?" Moody's loud, gruff voice was a stark contrast to hers, abruptly changing the mood of the entire room.

"Yes."

"Number eighty-five, Knockturn Alley, London?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," Moody sounded, taking his time as he paced thoughtfully. "You graduated from Hogwarts top of your class with first-class honours, and yet... you work in a _shop?_ "

Riddle looked thoughtful. "I have a passion for antiques. I have no desire to follow another career path."

"Despite what I'm sure must be a somewhat small income?"

"Money has never been a priority for me."

"No," Moody commented, turning to the jury. "Not with friends like Lucius Malfoy, I'd bet."

Hermione's muscles tensed, ready to spring back to action as a soft murmur from those witnessing the trial passed through the room. But the flash of genuine confusion that crossed Tom's face kept her seated.

"I grew up in an orphanage with very little in the way of money," Tom provided gently without being asked. "I've only ever known to live with little. I don't need money to have a happy life."

Hermione took the chance to watch the jury. While most did well at observing without emotion, she took satisfaction seeing the few who looked thoughtful.

It was then that Hermione was forced to entertain the notion that Tom, the accused murderer, may have been more well-liked amongst the jury than even Moody.

 _That was good._

 _Very good._

"Where were you, on the night of the thirty-first of October, last year?"

"I was at home."

"Can anybody attest to that?"

Tom swallowed. "No."

Moody hummed. "What about the night of the fourth of September, two-thousand and fifteen?"

"I'm not sure."

"The sixth of April, two-thousand and twelve?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"The twelfth of December, two-thousand and nine?"

Tom shook his head, closing his eyes in exasperation. "I don't know. I wasn't a murder suspect at the time, so I hardly felt the need to commit every evening of my life to memory. I'm sure very few would remember the details of a specific evening a decade ago."

Moody only answered Tom with a nod, his shoes clicking while he paced the floor slowly. "You mean to say, you have no alibi for any of the nights of any of the murders?"

Tom's sigh was quiet. "It would seem so."

Hermione frowned as a sudden idea sprung to light. She began sifting through the papers of her desk as her mind pondered. _Twelfth of December, twelfth of December, twelfth of December..._

Across the room, Moody shared her expression, his features deep in thought. "Coming back to your occupation, Mr. Riddle... as one who works with antiques, would it be safe to say that you have an eye for detail?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"For instance, you would notice small cracks and imperfections in the pieces that pass through the shop?"

"Yes."

"You would notice marks of minute damage that others may not notice?"

"Yes."

"Or, perhaps, details others might think to miss? Stray hairs? Lone fingerprints?"

"Mr. Moody," Fudge warned without needing prompting from Hermione. It was a good thing too, because Hermione was much too distracted by her own handwritten notes to have noticed Moody's daring question.

"Apologies, Your Honour," Moody said. "Purely hypothetical, of course."

Tom didn't make a sound.

"Do you do any restorations in your line of work, Mr. Riddle?"

"Yes," Tom said, his tone growing ever so slightly firmer.

"What does this entail?"

"Cleaning, for the most part. My employer, Mr. Burke specialises in the larger wooden pieces, while I tend to stick to smaller artefacts and home wares."

"Do you ever use hydrogen peroxide, or _bleach_ in your cleaning?"

The brief happiness over the detail Hermione had put together faded out in a long breath as she caught onto his question and realised what Moody was doing.

Tom wet his lips. "Occasionally. Mainly for porcelain."

"What volumes of bleach do you use?"

"We use a forty percent solution, mixed in-house. We don't need much for most pieces."

"The bleach is kept onsite at Borgin and Burke's?"

"Yes."

"In what quantities?"

"We purchase five litre bottles."

"How many bottles are typically kept onsite?"

"We order in batches of five."

Moody eyed the jury at Tom's avoidance. "How many bottles _total_ are kept at any one time in your place of employment?"

This time, Tom's sigh wasn't so quiet. "Anywhere up to ten, depending on demand."

The corner of Moody's lips turned upward. "And I take it that you have access to these bottles, Mr. Riddle?"

"...Yes."

"Thank you." The way the corner of Moody's smile grew made Hermione want to spit. "No further questions, Your Honour."

Hermione stood before Fudge offered her the chance to re-examine, earning her a disapproving frown from the judge.

"Ms. Granger, would you care to re-examine?"

"Yes, Your Honour," she said, already stepping out onto the floor, bringing the notes she'd found with her.

Her idea was a long shot... but she'd be mad not to try it.

"Mr. Riddle... as we heard from our previous witness Dr. Slughorn, you are in regular attendance of what he calls his 'Christmas get togethers'?"

Tom almost looked surprised by the question. "Yes."

"You've attended every year for the last sixteen years?"

"That's right."

"Do you know of a pattern to the schedule of these get togethers?" She asked. "That is, is there a particular day on which these parties are held?"

"Yes. They're always on a Friday, two weeks out from Christmas, give or take. Horace likes to schedule them for the last day of term before winter break in order to get as much student participation as possible."

Hermione nodded, taking her time as she tried to conceal her budding excitement. "Dr. Burbage was found in her home on the twelfth of December, two-thousand and nine - a Saturday," she stated, referring to the next a sheet of paper in her grip. "The time of death was determined to be between eleven p.m. and one a.m., early Saturday morning."

Her sentence lingered in the quiet of the courtroom.

"Mr. Riddle, as we have heard from Dr. Slughorn, you would have been in attendance at the University at this time. Would that be correct?"

His eyes flashed with something - maybe pride - as he caught on. "Yes."

"The University campus, located in London," she finished for him. "Assuming my knowledge of the geography of England is correct, making it out to the residence of Dr. Burbage in Nottingham would have taken... hours. Even without much traffic. And yet, Dr. Slughorn was adamant that you hadn't missed a single one of his parties."

Tom's eyes were well and truly alight.

"Dr. Slughorn is clearly very fond of you. I dare say, your absence would have been noticed-"

"I object, Your Honour." Moody interrupted, though it was hardly surprising. She was almost surprised he hadn't done it sooner. "Mr. Riddle has not had a confirmed alibi for that evening entered into this case as evidence. Any suggestion otherwise is simply conjecture."

"Solid conjecture, Your Honour," Hermione argued. "Certainly no more unreasonable than the conjecture we've seen from the prosecution."

Fudge's eyes narrowed, his glance shooting between them before they slowly drifted to where Tom sat on the stand.

"I'll allow it," he eventually decided. "Overruled, Mr. Moody."

"Thank you, Your Honour," she said, her chest swelling with pride. "No further questions."

* * *

Leaving the courtroom that day gave Hermione the feeling she was sure superheroes experienced when walking away from a burning building.

She'd done it.

Tom's testimony was the highest of the hurdles she had to jump, and her defence remained solid. Moody had thrown all he had, and yet she was sure; she was still in control.

She actually had a chance of _winning._ Of giving Tom his freedom.

It would do wonders for her career.

Hermione fought a smile and weaved her way down through the court house, eager to get home - or even to Tom's apartment - for a celebratory drink.

"Hey-"

A strong grip around her forearm forced her to turn back. Expecting it to be Tom catching up with her and again defying her 'no touching' instruction, she snapped irritably, " _excuse me_ \- Mr. Potter?"

His grip on her arm loosened as she met his eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry asked, his voice strained. "Why are you defending him, when he... he..."

Hermione had been approached by those involved in her cases before. The families of the victims, usually. It was never a pleasant experience, and it always shook her. However this time, with his wide eyes pleading her, she found herself feeling more compassionate than the usual fearful.

"Anything you say to me will jeopardise this case, Mr. Potter," she forced herself to say, trying to keep her voice gentle and low.

"Please, I... you can't do this. You can't have him released, _please_."

"I can't speak with you. You know that. A mistrial is the last thing anyone needs, least of all, you."

"But he's a murderer! You have to see that! Surely you can see it, _how can you not see_ -"

Harry broke off as he released a sound close to a shriek, moving back from her so quickly that he tripped over his own feet.

" _Get back! Don't you fucking come near me!_ "

Hermione followed his gaze to see that Tom had caught up with them, his attention locked on Harry.

His security detail wasn't with him.

As Harry's hysterical yelling drew in the attention of the courthouse security and they began to swarm in from down the hall, Hermione positioned herself between the two men.

" _Don't!_ " She instructed as she pushed Tom backward, having seen him opening his mouth to speak. "If you want any chance of making it through this case, you will keep your mouth shut!"

She turned back in time to see Harry shuffling backward on the floor before Moody, flanked by two sizeable security guards, approached.

"Fucking Christ, Granger!"

"You control your witnesses, Alastor!" She snapped with a pointed finger before she turned back to Tom to usher him in the direction of the exit. "Come on."

"But-"

" _Come on._ "

It took all of her self-control not to look back.


	7. Chapter 7

She had trouble sleeping the night after that. She couldn't help but wonder...

What was it that Tom would've said had she not intervened?

* * *

 **Day 28. R. v. Riddle**

Moody's summation, like all of his speeches she'd witnessed, was strong. He made good points, many that couldn't be argued with. It would be difficult to follow.

But while his was strong... her summary would be stronger.

"Thank you, Your Honour. May it please the court, ladies and gentlemen of the jury."

She took her place on the floor, her muscles relaxing as she entered her element.

Summations were her favourite part of being a lawyer.

"The Crown, the prosecution, must prove to you, that beyond reasonable doubt, Tom Marvolo Riddle committed the crimes that have been presented to you," she said as if in a private conversation with the jurors. "Whether or not they have in fact done so throughout this trial now rests entirely upon your shoulders."

"It is a heavy burden," she acknowledged, passing her eyes down the line of jurors to meet each pair, "one with risks on both sides, and I am very sorry that you've been placed in this position. There is nothing pleasant about this case. We have seen evidence of some of the most heinous of crimes to pass through this courtroom, and words cannot express my sympathies to you, the jury, and to the loved ones of all of the victims of this case.

"However, the time has come for a decision to be made, and I am here, speaking to you one last time, to assist you in doing so." She straightened to her full height, eyes passing over her audience. "I would like to begin by acknowledging a fact that has been presented to you all in this courtroom, one that the defence absolutely does not disagree with. We heard from Dr. Remus Lupin, that the atrocities committed in this case were most likely the work of a serial killer. That much is, in my learned friend Mr. Moody's words, _obvious_.

"But this crucial and accepted fact brings us back to the beginning, to young Miss Myrtle Warren. As a student of 19 years old, she didn't deserve what happened to her. No one deserves what she went through, or what any of the other victims went through. Of little comfort, is the fact that her death was a fast one; we heard from the coroner Ms. Pomfrey of as much.

"For her death to have been as rapid as it was concluded to be, however, Miss Warren would have needed to have been killed by one with experience, someone who knew how to use a knife and knew where to aim it.

"Tom Riddle was not capable of this," Hermione stated without question. "It's that simple. A young man of twenty-one years would not have been capable of teaching himself the technique necessary to make such a - as Dr. Dumbledore put it - _clean_ kill. He had never even met the girl. He had no _reason_ to be capable of her murder."

She paused, letting the soft clicks of her footsteps fill the room.

"Shortly, the Honourable Judge Fudge will ask you to determine whether the evidence proves to you, beyond reasonable doubt, that Tom Marvolo Riddle is guilty of murder, or, the unlawful killing of another human being without justification or excuse, with malice. Whilst deliberating, I implore you to reflect upon the first day of this trial, when the common summation of any crime was explained to you. This was explained as means, motive, and opportunity; three crucial aspects in determining whether guilt can be determined in any criminal proceeding."

Hermione took a long breath and met Tom's eyes.

"Tom Riddle did not have the _means_ to kill Miss Warren, nor any of the other victims, for that matter. Tom Riddle did not have the _motive_ to kill Miss Warren nor any of the other victims. Tom Riddle did not, apparently, have the _opportunity_ to kill Dr. Charity Burbage. If we can assume that the same person is responsible for the deaths of all seven victims, then... Tom Riddle was simply, _not capable._

"We saw, from multiple highly esteemed witnesses, Dr. Lupin and Dr. Dumbledore, that the culprit in this is case will be one of an exceedingly high level of intelligence, with psychopathic tendencies. The tests say that Mr. Riddle is a highly intelligent individual. While I do not dispute this fact, we also heard that Tom Riddle was not found to have psychopathic tendencies.

"In fact, we heard the opposite from multiple witnesses, Dr. Horace Slughorn, Mr. Evan Rosier, and Mr. Caractacus Burke; three men with close, longstanding relationships with Mr. Riddle.

"We heard from Dr. Severus Snape that he spoke with Mr. Riddle the day after Lily and James Potter were murdered. While the defence does not argue with this fact, I would like to remind you of the highly emotional state that Dr. Snape had been in at the time of the conversation, and of the many instances he himself claimed not to remember details of that day. While Mr. Riddle may not have been the most supportive of shoulders to lean on in such a time of distress, this by no definition indicates that he was responsible for the deaths of Lily and James Potter."

She took a deep breath as she paused, knowing the next subject needed to be treated lightly.

"But what was the most compelling of the evidence presented to you has surely been the testimony of that a man matching Mr. Riddle's appearance was seen at the scene of the murders of Lily and James Potter," she stated. "However, I must remind you that this was the testimony of their son, with a heavy emotional attachment to the case at hand. Of further importance - _critical importance_ \- is the fact that the identification of Mr. Riddle took place within a hospital within days of Mr. Potter waking from a coma - one which was induced after sustaining a bullet wound to the head. As you can imagine, during this time, Mr. Potter had been under extensive treatments for his pain, and any statement made should be taken with the upmost caution."

She ignored the urge to look in Harry's direction.

"What you have before you, is a tragic case. A horrific case, one which I know that simply to witness has been distressing. But I must urge you to not allow the horrific nature of the case to stop you from deliberating with conscience. The burden of potentially condemning an innocent man due to circumstantial evidence while the true culprit remains free to kill again is heavy... but it unfortunately now rests upon you."

Slowly, her glance brushed over each of the jury members, meeting their eyes one by one. She had reasonable doubt. She knew it.

Whether the _jury_ knew it was another matter.

But for Tom to be found guilty, the jury needed to vote unanimously. All she needed was one juror on her side. Just _one_ stood between herself and victory, between Tom and freedom.

"Thank you."

By the looks of the jurors, she would have bet her life that she had three.

* * *

"If I am to be acquitted," Tom breathed, his lips trailing down her sternum. "I'll take you to Paris."

Hermione, about as romantic as a teapot, snorted. "You will do no such thing."

He glanced down at her questioningly from where he hovered over her.

"Could you imagine?" She asked with a rhetorical edge. "The media would have a field day. Alastor would demand a retrial."

"That's an awfully bleak outlook," he murmured, shifting to catch one of her nipples between his teeth.

Her eyes rolled back into her head as he gently sucked on the delicate skin. "I'm being - _hm_ \- realistic."

He released his suction with a _pop._ "I'm serious about you, Hermione. You're not just a quick fuck to me."

She sat up suddenly, pushing him along with her in the process.

"That's all this can be," she said, her tone gentle. "You know that." When he didn't say anything, she pushed, "you _do_ know that, right?"

His dark, impossibly deep eyes held hers hostage. "I thought this was more than that," he murmured eventually.

"Tom... it can't be _._ My job is my life. You know that, you've seen that."

He pulled his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully as his thumb traced patterns over her thigh.

"What if I were to say that I think I'm falling in lo-"

" _Don't!_ " With the reflexes of a sportsman, she clamped her hand over his mouth. "Just... don't. We'll talk. Alright? _If_ and _when_ you're acquitted, we'll... discuss."

After a pause, she hesitantly freed his mouth.

She saw the subtle movement of his tongue brushing over his teeth through his skin as slight wrinkles formed on his forehead while he thought.

The beginning of the telltale weight of guilt pressed down on her shoulders.

"Oh no, I've upset you-"

"No," he breathed lowly as he readjusted his position over her, gently pushing her back down onto the pillows. "No, I understand."

"Do you though? You seem..."

"It's fine," he said quickly, shifting back downward. "We'll talk." He pulled the sheet up from behind him, pulling it over his head as he continued south.

"Tom-" she started, resisting his pull on her legs as he pried them apart to position himself between them. "You can't just do - do _that_ , and end the conversation..."

He made a noncommittal grunt and ran his palms up the inside of her thighs. He surely felt the beginnings of goosebumps on her skin as he ever so gently ran the pad of his thumb over her lips, and she was thankful that she couldn't see the look on his face.

"Tom, I'm serious, please-" she tried, she really did, but as he leaned into her and slowly dragged his tongue over the delicate skin of her clit, her attempt at telling him to stop came out as an unintelligible mess of syllables.

Her nails tightened around the sheets, and the distant look she'd seen in his eyes went dismissed.

* * *

 **Day 34. R. v. Riddle**

"In the first count of murder, how does the jury find?"

The air in the courtroom was still, yet the imbalance of it was almost perceivable.

Like static.

"We find the defendant, not guilty."

Her lungs emptied with a sensation like nothing she'd experienced before as the words ignited the sparks in the air. Scalding hot relief circulated through her, and although she tried not to get ahead of herself - there were seven counts, after all - the first verdict was possibly the most important one.

 _If he's not guilty of one, he's likely not guilty of the rest._

"In the second count of murder, how does the jury find?"

"We find the defendant-" the blasted juror spoke with far too much space between his words, "-not guilty."

The firm tension the muscles in her back held released all at once. She glanced to her left to see Tom with his eyes on her, a light shining behind them.

But strangely, it didn't look like happiness.

It was more like _pride._

"In the third count of murder, how does the jury find?"

"We find the defendant, not guilty."

A wave of sound rippled through the courtroom, prompting Fudge to intervene to silence the audience. Hermione didn't dare look toward the spectators, knowing both Harry and Severus were among them - _god knew, she didn't have the energy to face them -_ but she did take the opportunity to watch Moody.

He sat bouncing his foot, impatiently waiting for the rest of the counts, though the deep scowl on his face and his tight fists made it clear that he knew.

He'd lost.

As Fudge questioned the jury again and again, and the juror answered again and again, each time in the same way, Hermione struggled to pull her gaze off Tom.

 _Not guilty, not guilty, not guilty._

She'd done it. She'd _really_ done it.

She'd _won._

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, I hereby declare you acquitted on all counts."

* * *

 _ **There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it.**_  
 _ **\- JK Rowling**_

* * *

 **31 days after the trial**

She kept seeing Tom.

It was foolish and unethical and it could ruin both her reputation and career, but a month after the trial, Hermione was still spending more time than not at Tom's apartment.

It wasn't as if she hadn't _tried_ to nip it in the bud. She'd told herself almost every time she went to see him that it would be the last time, but she could've sworn the man was a psychic. Each attempt at bringing it up was met with him expertly slithering around the conversation, fucking her senseless, and making her wonder why she'd ever had the nonsensical idea to leave him in the first place.

Not to mention, it was far easier to sleep beside a man who was no longer her client or a murder suspect.

He hadn't yet told her he loved her - probably due to way she'd reacted the last time he'd tried - but as time went on, Hermione progressively grew more and more nervous about the subject. She knew he wanted to say it. She could see it on the edge of his tongue each time he woke up next to her, feel it in the tender way he touched her.

Never before would she have described herself as squeamish about the concept of love, but something about Tom was making her so. She wasn't sure why; he was a perfect gentleman and he was perfectly charming and he was good at _everything_ and she liked him, very, very much. But she'd begun to notice that he was a little bit - for lack thereof a better term - _clingy._

When they were together, they were always _together_. When they weren't together, he was texting her or calling her. He wasn't giving her the opportunity to clear her mind of him, and she was beginning to think that it might've been a little bit _possessive._

It was almost making her worry.

But, like she'd told herself multiple times in the last few weeks, she'd be thirty soon, and everybody had their flaws. Besides, what she had with Tom was _passionate_. While she'd been happy with Ron and with Viktor, she hadn't ever experienced the passion she had with Tom. And maybe that was worth fighting for.

Maybe she'd grow to love him.

And so, she kept seeing him.

She was in quite the hurry that Friday evening, having gotten carried away with one of her current cases yet again. Normally she wouldn't have minded being a bit late - he knew how she obsessed - but this time, she knew he had a special dinner planned.

 _Wear the red dress_ , he had said.

She used almost all of her short amount of time polishing off her lipstick, leaving none to fix up her hair. Still, knowing how he liked to pull it, she chose to leave it down.

She dashed through her apartment on the way out, almost accidentally kicking Crookshanks as she abruptly turned back around realising she'd left the T.V. on. Without looking at the screen, she snatched up the remote and pointed it in the direction of the television to switch it off.

She was in such a hurry that she didn't see the red banner that flashed across the screen, framing the words ' _breaking news_.'

And off to see him, she went.

* * *

It _had_ been a special dinner. Tom was an adept cook and she'd arrived at his place to the welcome aromas of rosemary, and garlic, and lamb. She had to fight a moan on her way in.

"I would like to tell you something," Tom murmured softly from across the table an hour later, the dim lighting of the candles lit along the wall flickering across his features. The way it complimented his jawline could've been criminal. "I hate lying to you."

She toyed with the stem of her wine glass, knowing that when a man said 'we need to talk', it wasn't often a good thing, especially after one openly admitted to lying.

"I'm all ears."

His tongue moistened his lips at her words. He took his time as he shifted his own glass to the side and leaned forward. With a long finger, he gestured for her to follow suit.

"Closer," he whispered, waiting until he heard the scratching of her chair on the wooden floor as she shuffled closer to lean in across the table.

The flickering light made his eyes sparkle.

"It was me." The soft words fell from his lips like sweet nothings. "I did it."

But his words didn't register. Not with the warmth of the wine in her blood and his low tone and proximity giving her goose-pimples down her skin.

"I'm sorry?"

He tipped his head back and made a sound deep in his throat, one very close to a groan that broke the quiet tension in the air. "God, you have no idea how good that feels, to get it out there."

She laughed hesitantly. "What are you talking about?"

He looked back and held her eyes, smiling warmly. "I killed them."

His words registered then.

It was only momentarily though, for her brain very quickly stalled. "Tom-"

He shot a hand out to grip hers, his hold tight. "All eight of them."

His eyes were still warm. His tone was as if he were telling her how his day went, as if he were telling her an amusing story. His expression, together with the shock his words instilled in her, distracted her to the point where it took her a moment to put it together.

"I - what are you..." she trailed off, sobering as the understanding of what he meant hit her, and then what _else_ he meant. "Tom... you were charged with seven."

"There were only meant to be seven." His thumb traced patterns over the visible veins on her skin. "Lily wasn't meant to be there, she wasn't meant to see... it was rather unfortunate really," he said with a ghost of a smile, offhandedly. "And then the Potter boy wasn't meant to _live_ , he wasn't meant to talk... but you know, I'll be the first one to admit that my talents don't lie with firearms. I don't like to use them, they're unreliable, you see, but... ah, that's been fixed now. The news will break soon, I'm sure..."

She hoped he couldn't feel the way her heart rate had sped up beneath her skin.

"You lied to me," she stated calmly, swallowing down the urge to vomit as the adrenaline coursing through her veins willed her to up and run.

"Yes," he conceded as he brought his other hand to hold onto hers. "I'm sorry for that, truly, I am. I didn't believe you'd fight quite so hard to win, had you known."

"But you..." she tried her hardest not to start to panic, she really did, but her composure was slipping. "You didn't - you couldn't have, I... I _saw_ you in that cell, I..."

"I'm good at what I do, Hermione. I needed you to believe me innocent."

"This isn't..."

"You performed magnificently. Better than I'd ever hoped. After your summary, I'd expected to only be convicted for the Potters, but you proved yourself more capable than I ever could have guessed."

Her mouth was dry. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I told you," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I hate lying to you."

She felt sick.

"I've never wanted to be as open with anyone, as I want to be with you." He pulled back one of his hands to take a slow sip of his wine. "I want us to be able to move forward. I just... well, I couldn't see a way to do that without telling you."

A nervous laugh escaped her. "Are... are you having me on?"

"No."

"Is this a _game?_ "

"No, no. I'm being honest with you. Truly, I am."

Though she willed herself to reign it in, her breathing sped up to become short pants of air, the loud thumping of her heart echoing between her ears to match.

"I've scared you."

"No, I-"

"I can see it, don't lie to me," he instructed, and although his tone was calm, the warning underneath was clear.

"I just... I need a moment," she said breathlessly, finally daring to take her hand back from his.

"Of course." He didn't blink as he watched her cradle her hand.

Shakily, she rose to her feet and stepped over to the kitchen. As if being run on autopilot, she took a glass from the dish rack and filled it with water.

She could feel his eyes on her.

He'd done it. Seven - _eight_ people, innocent people, two of them teenagers, and she'd gone along with him, blindly, _stupidly_ , like an infatuated teenager, like a moth to a flame.

But she'd suspected it. She'd suspected he might've been guilty for a good half of the trial, and she'd chosen to ignore it. She hadn't cared.

She wanted to _win._

And she'd condemned a boy to death _._

 _What did that say about her?_

She leaned her weight on the counter as she refilled her glass, a foolish attempt to drown the heavy weight in her stomach.

"I have something to ask of you, Hermione," he said, his calm voice unnervingly still as pleasant as it had been at the start of their discussion.

Her muscles tightened as she turned to meet his dark eyes once more.

"Lucius is... in a spot of bother. The Scotland Yard has at last managed to gather enough evidence for his tax evasions that he can't buy his way out of."

Her thought process was delayed. "I...you want me to take his case?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I need him to win it."

She shifted, the side of the counter digging into her hip. "Why?"

His teeth flashed as he laughed. "Do you honestly think that _Lucius_ has the brain power to run his empire? Do you think he managed to build it, from the ground up on his own?"

Though the cogs of her mind were turning, they weren't fast enough.

"Do you really think I give a rat's arse about the old tea cups Mavis brings into the store every odd week?" He went on, the tips of his teeth visible behind his lips. "Come now, love, I thought you were a bright one."

"You've been working with Malfoy," she stated. "That's why he pushed so hard to get you out on bail."

"No," he said, his voice becoming dangerous in a way she hadn't heard before. "I have never worked _with_ Malfoy. Malfoy works _for_ me."

The distinction, though a small one, was clear.

"He's the face," she voiced the epiphany as it came, "he's the name. But you... _you..._ "

" _I am the Lord._ " He rose as he spoke, his height and broad shoulders casting a foreboding shadow on the wall behind, the way he breathed his self-given title draining the warmth from the space between them.

He pushed his chair back and slowly stalked across the apartment, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as the space began to close in.

"I need a lawyer onside. One who knows the company and one who can _win._ This certainly won't be the only time we struggle with the law," he said, his tone still low. "I want it to be you."

"I-I-" she struggled, distracted as she finally _saw_ him.

Not Tom.

No.

 _Lord Voldemort._

"But... I... you can't honestly believe I'm the best choice. You know that financial cases are hardly my speciality-"

"You got me off." His lips turned upward at the innuendo. "I've seen what you can do. I very much doubt Lucius will prove to be a struggle for you."

She swallowed as he finally came to a halt mere inches away.

What was it Moody had warned?

 _'This case will lock you in as a defence lawyer for the rest of your life.'_

"So... _Hermione_ ," he began, in the same low whisper he reserved for the bedroom as he offered her his hand. "Are you with me?"

She eyed his outstretched palm. Take it and do as he said, or... well. Years of training and working with criminals had taught her the alternative well enough, and this wasn't just _any_ criminal.

The threat was clear. It didn't need to be spoken.

And so, knowing that she didn't really have a choice, _not really_ , she placed her hand in his.

His smile was broad.

"I knew you'd understand."

* * *

 **yeah. i don't know why i wrote this. it was a real whim i had one day and it's gone way too long, but i'm happy i've finished it. anyhoo i hope you have enjoyed yourselves! hit me up, plz let me know what you think, i love some insight from those of you who take the time to read my trash :)  
**

 **#stillnotalawyer**


End file.
